


New perspective

by Antheros



Series: After all, we are here [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Love, M/M, Multi, Post-Hogwarts, Post-War, Ron Weasley Bashing, Threesome - F/M/M, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:07:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26289229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antheros/pseuds/Antheros
Summary: Azkaban is no place for kids.Azkaban is no place for them.She had repeated it several times to her friends, Harry and Ron, to Ginny, who still persisted in not believing her, to Professor Minerva McGonagall, who had smiled at her warmly, to Kingsley Shakerbolt, to ensure that they had a fair trial, and even to the entire magical community. She had reiterated this several times. Yet she wondered where she had gone wrong. Because things had turned out differently than she had planned and she couldn't believe it.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Blaise Zabini, Draco Malfoy/Blaise Zabini/Pansy Parkinson, Draco Malfoy/Pansy Parkinson, Draco Malfoy/Theodore Nott/Blaise Zabini, Draco Malfoy/Theodore Nott/Pansy Parkinson/Blaise Zabini, Hermione Granger/Blaise Zabini, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy/Theodore Nott/Blaise Zabini, Hermione Granger/Theodore Nott, Hermione Granger/Theodore Nott/Blaise Zabini
Series: After all, we are here [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1910149
Comments: 3
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter One

Azkaban is no place for kids.  
Azkaban is no place for them.  
She had repeated it several times to her friends, Harry and Ron, to Ginny, who still persisted in not believing her, to Professor Minerva McGonagall, who had smiled at her warmly, to Kingsley Shakerbolt, to ensure that they had a fair trial, and even to the entire magical community. She had reiterated this several times. Yet she wondered where she had gone wrong. Because things had turned out differently than she had planned and she couldn't believe it.  
She had entered that room, had sat down in her assigned seat, diligently. She had dusted off a skirt and blouse for that occasion. And she had waited. The anxiety mixed with fear and resolution gripped her stomach making it difficult not to give in to hatred. She was there, looking at the centre of the room where three cages rose from the floor. Aurors and folders were all inside. Then she heard it: people started filling the room.  
And she sensed the people's disbelief. She was sitting on the side of the defence, she sat with all the Gryffindor courage in that chair and was waiting. She could hear the whispers, the cut-off words of people he couldn't understand. None of them understood what it must have been like for guys to fight such a war in their school.  
Nobody understood, but everyone wanted to judge.  
Anyone who felt entitled to point the finger at his fellow Slytherins. And she just couldn't stand it.  
Harry and Ron sat on the other side, next to the Weasley family. They refused to testify for or against those who until a few months earlier were their classmates. But that refusal to show up, to take a stand seemed to Hermione an excuse for not having to admit that they had all been helped in their fight against Voldemort. But people had read sin. By choosing not to testify, Harry gave the impression that he knew the guilt of those boys. And this Hermione could not bear.  
Harry had looked at her for a moment. A dull smile on his lips, as if he were commiserating her for that cause. She pitied her for choosing to defend those who had hurt her since the first day she set foot at Hogwarts. But for Hermione, it was more important to defend the innocent than to rethink the mistakes of some kid who grew up with his father's weak ideas. He gave her a smile when he noticed she was looking at him, but their eye contact didn't last long. Ron, on the other hand, was glaring at her. But he was biased, he had seen Fred's death, he had lost a brother in that war and it was understandable that he was looking for a culprit, even a false one, to feel better. But that didn't mean she would allow him to look at her that way. He was judging her; he judged his choices and his ideals, his fighting and his words in the name of an angry feeling of revenge.  
Beside her, the rustle of a dress roused her. A very distinguished woman, with a cold and lifeless gaze, took her place a few steps away from her. Narcissa Malfoy, nee Black, was present at her son's hearing. She wore a black lace dress and held a handkerchief firmly in one hand that she kept tormenting twisting and turning. She had to ease the tension, a mother's fear of having her child taken away. She gave her a look of gratitude, more for her decision to testify than for anything else. But she didn't speak to her, which was good for Hermione as she wouldn't have known what to say otherwise. Another woman took a seat next to Narcissa. Harsh, serious, with pride intact despite the lies about her. She held a black umbrella in his hand; it must have started raining pretty hard outside. She had given her a defiant look, most likely she didn't trust her good faith.  
Then finally silence fell. The Wizgamoth had taken its place. Kingsley sat down in his seat, looked at her with a strange light in his eyes, and then called the defendants. And that was how he saw them again. Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott were led into the hall. They were pale, their eyes frightened watching the people around and their hands, still handcuffed with a thick chain, tightened around the bars. She looked at them and his heart skipped a beat. She could not imagine that a few days in Azkaban had the power to frighten someone so much, but perhaps that was also the result of the fear of a sentence. She couldn't take his eyes off them and for a moment she felt the tears threaten to come out. It was then that she mustered the little Gryffindor control she never thought he had and composed himself.  
Draco had looked at her for a moment; the smirk of the school years vanished along with the hatred. There was a surprise. So much surprise that it led her to fold her lips into a smile. No compassion, no mockery, just ... some sort of friendship.  
And then the hearing began. And his words, however, supported by facts, explanations and examples, failed to break through hearts tormented and thirsty for a justice that seemed more vengeance than the court. The sentence was immediate. 3 years in Azkaban for suspected crimes against the magical community. 3 years of pain and passion. No possibility of receiving further penalty discounts. Nothing but 3 years under the clutches of cold and fear. Nothing.  
It was when the sentence was passed that Hermione let herself go to tears. Tears of anger at Harry and Ron for pulling back and ignoring the reality of things, anger at all those people who had cheered and whistled cheerfully after those words, anger at herself for not being able to help them. And anger at Voldemort, guilty of causing all that. She had curled up in that chair, her gaze fixed on the three now empty cages, her eyes dull and red with tears. She had been there, she had talked to those people and she hadn't been able to assert herself. She must have made some mistake, however small she thought it was, in his program, in his research, in his words. Where had she gone wrong?  
A hand landed on her shoulder and pushed her towards a hot, hard body. She had let him, then she recognized Harry's scent and things had changed. She pulled away abruptly, looking at him with uncontrolled hatred. She wanted him to feel guilty for making her lead that fight alone. She against his non-words.  
"Hermione reacting like this won't change the ..." he started with his stupid sentence. Did he want her to calm down, to recover, did he want her to believe that justice had run its course? Did he seriously think she would consider that sentence correct? Right? Well, Harry Potter was wrong.  
"Shut up. Harry. Don't come here now to be a friend, don't talk to me about how things went as they should and how I was good and perfect. Don't come and look at me with the dull eyes of someone who feels sorry for them. Your fault. You should have had the guts to come down here, beside me, and tell everyone how much they helped us during the war. You should have told everyone about the attempts to leave us clues, to keep us out of trouble, from Voldemort. And say they helped us win a war in which they lost as much as other people. And instead, you sat there in that damn seat, next to Ron enjoying the sight of seeing your arch-enemy humiliated and locked up in a cell for three damned years. You both waited so eagerly for this moment that you didn't even try to pretend. You're mean Harry, you didn't want to admit being helped by those you hated, and hate, for the colours of the House of to membership, for details that bothered you. You acted like you were mean, Harry Potter. And no, don't try to tell me to calm down or sleep on it and not even to lower your voice because trust me as things stand today, it's all over between us. Whatever had been in seven years of school, "she threw up a whole stream of words at him and the more he talked, the more Harry blushed with embarrassment and shame. He looked around, noticing the reporters and worrying about what they would report in the papers. But she hadn't stopped, she hadn't had pity on him and their fame just as he hadn't had pity on those three young men who were about to serve three years in a maximum-security prison for sins they didn't have.  
She then retrieves his bag, glanced at his now ex-friend and walked out. Not once did she look back as she entered the door and plunged into the crowd asking for explanations and details. She gave an interview to the Daily Prophet and for Luna's sake to The Quibbler. And she spoke of nothing else.


	2. Chapter Two

That night it was difficult to sleep. Her mind, as if to punish her, presented her with the images of the day. Blurry yet heartbreaking. At 4.30, tired of turning from one side of the bed to the other, Hermione set her feet on the cold tiles of the house. Ignoring Croockshanks's sleepy gaze, she reached the kitchen and waited there. She wanted the dawn, she wanted to see the first rays of the sun come out in front of his kitchen window. She wanted to forget the whole situation, or she wouldn't be able to focus on either her job or her life.  
Over the next three years.  
But then a hawk alighted on the railing of the tiny balcony and looked at her expectantly. At that hour Hermione had no idea who that letter might be, let alone the beautiful bird of prey. She opened the French window and took the falcon on his arm before retrieving the letter. It let himself be stroked on the feathers of his head then waited for new instructions, but Hermione had understood that she should give him the return letter for her master. She took it into the house and recovered some clean parchment and a feather. The falcon perched on the small perch, where Hermione's barn owl was already dozing and waited.  
The letter, quite short to tell the truth, was straightforward and firm. The accurate and elegant handwriting revealed a refined hand behind him. As she read it, Hermione was impressed. Narcissa Malfoy invited her for tea at the Manor that same afternoon. Hermione rolled her eyes in surprise but decided to say yes anyway. The falcon, not at all resentful of having been thrown, took off for home.  
Only once did Hermione allow herself to think back to those who had once been friends. Ginny would spend most of the day choosing which dress to wear, which was most appropriate for the task. Ronald would read the note and tear it to shreds, screaming that it was madness and certainly a prank. And above all that he would never set foot in a Death Eater house. Harry, on the other hand, would have read the message several times and would have immediately thought of some negative situation before asking her for advice, only to do his own thing anyway. She, in school, would have behaved differently. She would read the letter quietly and profusely and then write a reply only after a night of reflection. She would not have answered straight away, she would not even have felt that certainty in writing but a strange feeling of anxiety and finally she would not have felt that kind of cheerfulness, a feeling of right in receiving such correspondence.  
But the thought of meeting the hostess Malfoy had brought back the anger and sense of helplessness she had felt all evening and night. She was convinced that she needed to review everything. Any file on the case, any testimony. She wanted people's memories, read the accusations, and prepare for a legal battle in favour of the three Slytherins. She had become a lawyer to do good in the wizarding community, she wanted to be able to remove any injustice from a ministry that had been corrupt for too long. And she hadn't chosen to defend the three men to highlight his career, but because she felt it was right to help them. To do such a job, however, she needed someone to help her and could be a true sincere assistant and not a thorn in her side. She also knew that the recovery of those files could be difficult, especially due to the ministry's ability to make important parts vanish, tampering with the final data. It wasn't the first time this happened, and Hermione knew it well. So she sat down at the table and began to think about a possible action plan to retrieve all the information, necessarily true and complete, that she would need.  
Keeping your mind busy was sacred to Hermione. She had always had something to deal with since her first year at Hogwarts, of course, she had thought it was books and study and not ways to save her friends or herself. So when dawn turned to the late morning she wasn't surprised she didn't realize it. She had no commitments that Saturday, except the one with Narcissa. His list was long and skipping even a single point could have made all the previous engagement in vain, as well as ruining the entire job.  
It was half an hour before the appointment that Hermione decided to get ready, as well as to involve Narcissa in her project. Though she wasn't sure why she'd been invited to join her at that appointment. Knowing Hermione, she wore the clothes that made her feel more at comfort, even though a Thoroughbred was present and above all that she was reaching the "in" area of the city. Once ready she dematerialized in front of Malfoy Manor's magnificent entrance. She had feared for a single instant of being overwhelmed by emotions setting foot in that place after so little time since the war and what she had lived. Yet once there, she felt strangely peaceful. Calm was part of her and she could see no signs of pressure or panic. She rang three times, as was the custom on the upper floors of Magical London, and abode. A pretty elf appeared with a loud POP. She wore a clean and well-made dress, she didn't seem to be treated too badly either.  
"The lady is waiting for you on the patio, Miss Granger. Please follow me," he said in a friendly voice. They walked into the large garden on a cobbled path that led straight to the main entrance. Hermione wondered how charming and fun it would be to play on that well-tended weed, but then she remembered what Lucius Malfoy was like and the phantom of a difficult and little worry-free childhood appeared in her mind. It must not have been easy for Draco to grow up in a place as beautiful yet as dark as his home.  
Narcissa was waiting sitting on a white cast alloy chair. Beside him, another woman sat staring at the garden. They were shrouded in the silence of someone who has lost someone he cared a lot about. The elf, after a deep bow, left them alone.  
"Miss Granger I am very pleased to be able to welcome you here and to have received such a quick reply to my letter. Please, dear, sit down as well. I wish to introduce you to my endeared friend Eileen Zabini, whom you certainly noticed yesterday morning ..." voice failed her on the last part, letting out all the pain that her mask of coldness should have covered.  
Eileen Zabini was beautiful, powerful and devious. She was said to have killed her seven husbands after their wedding without leaving any mark. But that popular theory had never found truthfulness or proof: everyone was murmuring but no one could prove what he claimed. She shook hands with the woman, letting a casual smile, not too happy but not even compassionate, painted on her face. Eileen did the same, and Hermione regained her confidence. She was going well.  
"I am delighted to meet you, my dear. My son, Blaise, on the few occasions he came home from school and the fewer times he wrote letters addressed to me, never failed to tell me about what an amazing and incredibly intelligent witch. I am convinced that my son had a very good eye for understanding people; you and your presence in the classroom show it yesterday afternoon" she spoke with mild sympathy, looking Hermione straight in the eye. Narcissa poured some tea into her guests' cups before attending herself. Hermione waited for the hostess to pick up her cup before doing the same: it was one of the things she had noticed the Purebloods doing, a sign of respect for her guest.  
"I am very happy to have made your acquaintance, Mrs Zabini. As for the praise your son has made of me, I fear they are a little exaggerated. After all, I am a girl like many others, although I will not deny here, sinning with false modesty, of not being aware of my intelligence ... out of the ordinary for a witch of my age. My presence in the courtroom yesterday afternoon was something I felt I had to do. It was right to state the truth hidden by the fear and insecurities of a bloody war that I would have preferred never to experience on my skin, especially at my age. And I will not deny that I am somewhat surprised and certainly not happy with the sentence, "Hermione replied, moving her gaze between the two women.  
Narcissa nodded with her eyes now shining. Eileen, who managed to maintain a much better attitude, did not miss the opportunity to express her agreement to those words.  
"We are grateful for your vision of the affair as we wish to offer you a not easy job offer, unfortunately. We know that you are very close friends with some members of the Order, as well as with several positions within the Ministry, and therefore we imagine it may be an offer at least unpleasant to accept in some of its points, however, we would like to propose that you become the defence lawyer of our families. We would like you to represent us, our children and Theodore Nott, who as you well know finds himself by now alone on this world after Augustus has been imprisoned in Azkaban as long as he will have life. What we ask of you is a very high sacrifice to make and therefore you can be sure that you will be rewarded the quite, with an adequate salary for the job we propose you " Eileen began later having taken a sip of tea and letting a long moment of silence fall on the table.  
"We have been the wives of cruel and corrupt men and we are certainly not free from guilt from the moment we have no knowledge I can oppose them at the right moment. But we both love our children, we deeply love those three so young men who have been incarcerated in Azkaban for three years without the possibility of writing to each other, or seeing each other or even being themselves. We are afraid of losing them in the cold of that prison, with the Dementors watching over their souls and the Aurors bending them to their will. Hermione, I love Draco as only a mother can. I have already lost a husband in those cells, who, however evil, is the one who allowed me to become a mother and to meet the splendid child that was Draco. Lucius and I were far apart on so many things, not least the war, and having to choose I wouldn't hesitate to find that single way to get Draco out of the clutches of an unfair sentence. And I know the same goes for Eileen, "Narcissa continued with a broken voice and trembling hands.  
Hermione had watched them throughout the speech, she had felt empathy for them to the point of sharing their pain. And she was happy that the two women had this idea in their hearts, as she would do anything to help them.  
"I do not deny that I have thought for a long time about what happened yesterday afternoon, to tell the truth, I spent the whole night up asking myself what I was wrong and what I could do now to fix things. I found a single solution, however not I can assure you of it. Well, last night and this morning I worked on a plan to review the records of the trial: accusations, evidence, defenders, witnesses, everything. I had already decided, my dear ladies, to represent your children, with your permission of course, on this path to be able to get them out of Azkaban as soon as possible. So I have no problem taking over your situation, strengthening your offer, even if it means going against my friends. I am convinced that the wizarding community needs certain answers and not to give in to those who propose the mildest solution. However I will need collaborators, trusted people I have known for some time and who I know will take the situation with due diligence. I'm not interested in a hefty salary like you promised me, but I want what I don't want to be added to my account to keep this work going "she spoke slowly, weighing every single word and calibrating every hitch. Finally, she had lengthened her words. Hands towards the two women - a sign that many would have read as hazardous but which she knew was necessary to establish human contact with those two women wrapped so deeply in pain.  
They had a deal that would keep talking for years if they could get it through. It could have been the cause that would have consecrated Hermione Granger not only to War Heroine but also to a bright career as a lawyer. She had the opportunity to purge the wizarding community of that petty fake reality that had settled over time.  
She was ready for a new battle, and if it were necessary for a long and tiring war.


End file.
